The afternoon pa.s.sed slowly, and when the night was advanced he set out upon his errand, resolved that he would not do it, and yet knowing that he would.
The little house was as silent and dark as ever, doors and shutters tightly closed. He watched it more than an hour and saw no sign of life.
She must have gone from the city, he thought, and so concluding, he was about to turn away, when a hand was laid lightly upon his arm. It was the woman in brown, and the look upon her face was not all of surprise.
It occurred suddenly to Prescott that she had expected him, and he wondered why. But his first question was rough.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Nothing that I wish," she replied, the faintest trace of humour showing in her tone; "much that I do not wish. The reproof that your voice conveys is unwarranted. I have tried again to leave Richmond, but I cannot get past the outer lines of defenses. I am the involuntary guest of the rebel capital."
"Hardly that," replied Prescott, still somewhat roughly. He did not relish her jaunty tone, although he was much relieved to know that she could not escape. "You came uninvited, and you have no right to complain because you cannot leave when you wish."
"I see that I am in the presence of a sincere rebel patriot," she said with irony, "and I did not know before that the words "rebel" and "patriot" could go together so easily."
"I think that I should surrender you to the authorities," said Prescott.
"But you will not," she said with conviction. "Your conscience would reproach you too much."
Prescott was silent, uncertain what to say or to do. The woman annoyed him, and yet he did not conceal from himself that the slight protecting feeling, born of the fact that she was a woman and, it seemed, helpless, remained in his mind.
"Are you alone in that house?" he asked, still speaking curtly and pointing toward the wooden cottage.
"No," she replied.
Prescott looked at her inquiringly. He thought that he detected the faintest twinkle in her eyes. Could it be that a woman in such a position was laughing at the man who had helped her? He felt his face grow red.
"You wish to know who is there?" she said.
"I do not wish to know anything of the kind."
"You do, and I shall tell you. It is merely a woman, an old maid, perhaps as friendless as myself, Miss Charlotte Grayson. I need not add that she is a woman of right mind and sympathies."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She wishes to see the quick end of this hateful rebellion. Oh, I tell you there are many who think as she does, born and bred within the limits of this Confederacy. They are far more numerous than you rebels suspect."
She spoke with sudden fire and energy, and Prescott noticed again that abrupt stiffening of the figure. He saw, too, another curious effect--her eyes suddenly turned from dark-blue to black, an invariable change when she was moved by a pa.s.sion.
"It is always safe for a woman to abuse a man," replied Prescott calmly.
"I am not attacking you, but the cause you serve--a hateful cause. How can honest men fight for it?" she said.
Prescott heard footsteps in the main street--it was not many yards from there to the point in the little side street where he stood--and he shrank back in the shadow of the fence.
"You do not wish to be seen with me," she said.
"Naturally," replied Prescott. "I might have to answer inquiries about you, and I do not wish to compromise myself."
"Nor me?" she said.
"Perhaps it is too late for that," replied Prescott.
Her face flushed scarlet, and again he saw that sudden change of the eyes from dark-blue to threatening black. It occurred to him then that she was handsome in a singular, challenging way.
"Why do you insult me?" she asked.
"I was not aware that I had done so," he replied coolly. "Your pursuits are of such a singular nature that I merely made some slight comment thereon."
She changed again and under drooping eyelids gave him that old imploring look, like the appeal of a child for protection.
"I am ungrateful," she said, "and I give your words a meaning that you do not intend. But I am here at this moment because I was just returning from another vain attempt to escape from the city--not for myself, I tell you again, and not with any papers belonging to your Government, but for the sake of another. Listen, there are soldiers pa.s.sing."
It was the tread of a company going by and Prescott shrank still farther back into the shadow. He felt for the moment a chill in his bones, and he imagined what must be the dread of a traitor on the eve of detection.
What would his comrades say of him if they caught him here? As the woman came close to him and put her hand upon his arm, he was conscious again of the singular thrill that shot through him whenever she touched him.
She affected him as no other woman had ever done--nor did he know whether it was like or dislike. There was an uncanny fascination about her that attracted him, even though he endeavoured to shake it off.
The tread of the company grew louder, but the night was otherwise still.
The moon silvered the soldiers as they pa.s.sed, and Prescott distinctly saw their features as he hid there in the dark like a spy, fearing to be seen. Then he grew angry with himself and he shook the woman"s hand from his arm; it had rested as lightly as dew.
"I think that you had better go back to Miss Charlotte Grayson, whoever she may be," he said.
"But one cannot stay there forever."
"That does not concern me. Why should it? Am I to care for the safety of those who are fighting me?"
"But do you stop to think what you are fighting for?" She put her hand on his arm, and her eyes were glowing as she asked the question. "Do you ever stop to think what you are fighting for, the wrong that you do by fighting and the greater wrong that you will do if you succeed, which a just G.o.d will not let happen?"
She spoke with such vehement energy that Prescott was startled. He was well enough accustomed to controversy about the right or wrong of the war, but not under such circ.u.mstances as these.
"Madam," he said, "we soldiers don"t stop in the middle of a battle to argue this question, and you can hardly expect me to do so now."
She did not reply, but the fire still lingered in her eyes. The company pa.s.sed, their tread echoed down the street, then died away.
"You are safe now," she said, with the old touch of irony in her voice; "they will not find you here with me, so why do you linger?"
"It may be because you are a woman," replied Prescott, "that I overlook the fact of your being a secret and disguised enemy of my people. I wish to see you safely back in the house there with your friends."
"Good-night," she said abruptly, and she slid away from him with soundless tread. He had noticed her noiseless walk before, and it heightened the effect of weird mystery.
She pa.s.sed to the rear of the house, disappearing within, and Prescott went away. When he came back in a half-hour he noticed a light shining through one window of the little house, and it seemed more natural to him, as if its tenant, Miss Charlotte Grayson, had no reason to hide her own existence. Prescott was not fond of secrecy--his whole nature was open, and with a singular sense of relief he turned away for the second time, going to Winthrop"s office, where he hoped to find more congenial friends.
Raymond, as he expected, was there with his brother editor, and so was Wood, the big cavalryman, who regarded Robert for a moment with an eye coldly critical. Raymond and Winthrop, who stood by, knew the cause, but Wood quickly relaxed and greeted with warmth the addition to the party.
Others came in, and soon a dozen men who knew and liked each other well were gathered about the stove, talking in the old friendly Southern way and exchanging opinions with calm certainty on all recondite subjects.
After awhile Winthrop, who pa.s.sed near the window on some errand, exclaimed:
"Gentlemen, behold Richmond in her bridal veil."
They looked out and saw the city, streets and roofs alike, sheeted in gleaming white. The snow which had come down so softly spoke only of peace and quietness.